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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25662478">never recognized a purer face</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunkspacearchivist/pseuds/drunkspacearchivist'>drunkspacearchivist</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Autistic Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Canon-Typical Worms (The Magnus Archives), F/F, Falling In Love, Fix-It, Good Cows (The Magnus Archives), Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Jon Cries a lot, M/M, No beta we kayak like Tim, Non-Sexual Naked Cuddling, Season Five Is Cancelled, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Tea as a love language, The Mechanisms Were The Archivist's College Band, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, past self harm, soft boys in love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:21:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,157</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25662478</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunkspacearchivist/pseuds/drunkspacearchivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When it happened, Jon was actually impressed that it hadn’t happened sooner. He had felt like crying all day.</p><p>Or, it takes running away to a cottage in the Scottish Highlands for Jon and Martin to finally confess the feelings they've had for years. They are not the same people they were when they fell in love, but they are better people now. And they have time.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Past Georgie Barker/Jonathan "Jon" Sims</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>385</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>never recognized a purer face</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>&lt;3 I know, I know. There are a lot of Scottish Safehouse fics. But that's because they're good. Title is from Finally // beautiful stranger by Halsey. Comments and kudos are always appreciated! Stay safe!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When it happened, Jon was actually impressed that it hadn’t happened sooner. He had felt like crying all day.</p><p>He had felt like crying when Elias told him that Peter Lukas had taken Martin into the Lonely. He had felt like crying when he was in Lonely, when Peter tried to convince him he was better off staying. He had felt like crying when Martin was fading away when Jon reached for him and felt only fog. He had felt like crying a million times on the way over, between being forced to run and packing to leave and not knowing what was happening with Daisy and Basira and watching Martin jump at his own shadow and watch every crowd closely and fall asleep on his shoulder on the train. </p><p>A few weeks ago, he had put his head in Daisy’s lap and she had told him of a cottage in Scotland. They made holiday plans while Daisy played with Jon’s hair and they pretended that neither of them were crying. In their fantasies, they brought Martin and Basira. It was the first time Jon admitted to being in love with Martin. It was the first time Daisy admitted that she was afraid Basira didn’t really love her, that she had fallen in love with the thing Daisy was trying so hard not to be. It felt wrong, taking that holiday with only half the planned guests.</p><p>They got to the cottage as the sun was setting. He found the key in a Mason jar by the door, but had to hand it to Martin after a very sad attempt to open it. When Martin handed him the key with a small, shy smile, Jon had felt like crying again.</p><p>They spent the next hour figuring out how to turn the water and power back on, before deciding to poke around a bit. There was a surprising lack of bloodstains, but Jon was still suspicious of every surface. Overall, the place looked less like something Daisy would decorate and more like something her grandmother might have done, with overstuffed floral couches and oriental rugs over creaky wooden floors.</p><p>Martin was drawn to the coffee table. The table was beautiful, dark oak with a glass top. Martin tapped a vase filled with long-dead flowers on the center of the table. “Guess she forgot about them.”</p><p>“She picked them with Basira, last time they were here,” Jon said. Every time she came up to the cottage, she picked flowers to put on the coffee table. Daisy found it funny. This entire cottage was funny to her, a joke she kept all to herself. That’s why she had brought Basira here. She told Basira the joke, that she had made a fluffy, flowery little cottage for a monster. Basira had stared at her, horrified. She didn’t get the joke. She didn’t see Daisy as a monster.</p><p>The weight of what he had Known hit him, and he felt like crying again.</p><p>Martin, thankfully, seemed to have noticed and didn’t touch the vase again. </p><p>“We should go run out the taps,” Martin said. Thankful for the distraction, Jon went towards the bathroom, with Martin close behind him.</p><p>Jon flicked on the bathroom light, and Martin inhaled sharply. Jon whipped around to look at him, but Martin was transfixed on the mirror, in shock.</p><p>“Martin?” Jon asked, voice filled with fear.</p><p>“I haven’t looked in a mirror recently,” Martin said. He sounded far away. “I look so much like him.”</p><p>Jon grabbed Martin’s hand. Martin jolted, like he just realized Jon was in the room. Martin looked down at him, and Jon felt like crying.</p><p>Instead, he brushed a faded lock of hair out of Martin’s face and said, “You don’t. You look like you.”</p><p>Martin gave Jon that sad smile of his, and turned back to the sink, turning on the taps. Jon turned, pulling back the shower curtain.</p><p>“Oh, fuck!” Jon said, jumping back and bumping into Martin.</p><p>“What?” Martin squeaked, whipping around.</p><p>Jon took a deep breath, and squeezed his eyes shut. “The shower appears to be some kind of spider graveyard.”</p><p>Martin looked over Jon, and laughed. “That is a <em>lot</em> of dead spiders.”</p><p>“Twenty-six,” Jon said. “God, I did not need to Know that.”</p><p>Martin sighed, squeezing Jon’s shoulder. “Watch the sink, I’ll clean that up.”</p><p>And watching Martin scoop all of the corpses into a cup he found underneath the sink, Jon felt like crying again.</p><p>They moved to the kitchen next. Jon was sitting on the kitchen counter, watching the taps, when Martin laughed suddenly. Jon turned, heart fluttering at the noise. Martin had taken it upon himself to look in the cupboards, and he had found an old, probably long unusable box of teabags.</p><p>“Want a cup of tea?” Martin asked. Jon burst into tears.</p><p>The sobs he had kept in for so long came spilling out, and his entire body shook with the force and the anxiety. He tried wiping away the tears, but they continued in full force.</p><p>And then Martin was there. He put his hands on Jon’s arms, a feather-light touch that was simultaneously too much and not enough. With Jon still on the counter, the two of them were almost the same height.</p><p>“Jon, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it was a joke, I didn’t mean to make you cry, please don’t cry,” Martin stammered. Jon reached out, resting his hands on Martin’s cheeks, and he stopped rambling.</p><p>“I missed you so much,” Jon said, voice breaking. His hands still shook.</p><p>They stood there, staring into each other's eyes. The water in the tap ran clear. No one noticed for quite a long time.</p><p>There wasn’t any actual food in the cottage, and so they drank the tea black.  It was long out of date, but Martin assured Jon that the dates on tea bags don’t actually mean much. Even so, it was frankly quite disgusting. Martin got through a few sips before he set the cup down, but Jon forced himself to drink the entire thing. Martin had made him a cup of tea. Of course he would drink the entire thing.</p><p>The two of them stayed in that kitchen, Jon still on the counter with Martin leaning in the doorway, in a comfortable silence.</p><p>“Should we go down to the village?” Jon asked, breaking the silence. “Get some food?”</p><p>Martin stiffened at the idea. “You go ahead. I’m exhausted.”</p><p>“Me too,” Jon said, not ready to have Martin out of his sight.</p><p>Martin laughed. “Should we go to bed?”</p><p>There was only one bed. Of course there was only one bed. This was Daisy’s house, after all, and it wasn’t like she had guests over to a vacation house. Jon vaguely wondered where Basira had slept. He decided that he didn’t want to think too much about the two of them up here, for fear of crying again, or of Seeing something he’d really rather not see his friends doing. </p><p>“I could sleep on the-” Martin started.</p><p>“No,” Jon said sharply. </p><p>Martin flinched. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“No, I’m sorry,” Jon sighed. “You take the bed, Martin. You need it more than I do.”</p><p>“Are you sure?” Martin asked. </p><p>Jon nodded, pulling the dust cover off of the bed. “I think the sheets are in the closet.”</p><p>A tiny smile flashed across Martin’s face, but he looked away so quickly that Jon barely noticed it. If it had been anyone except for Martin, he wouldn’t have noticed it at all. A side effect of the years spent watching from across the Archives.</p><p>“Well, goodnight Jon,” Martin said.</p><p>Jon smiled. “Goodnight, Martin.”</p><p>Jon ducked into the bathroom to change and brush his teeth, before heading back out to the living room.</p><p>Jon tried to fall asleep, but he was still restless. He was still wired, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the adrenaline or Peter’s statement.  He curled up on the couch anyways, with a knit blanket that did nothing to permeate the chill running through his bones. Now that Martin wasn’t in his direct line of sight, he could feel the Lonely’s tug on him, begging for him, calling him back. He could only imagine how Martin felt, and hoped that he had already fallen asleep.</p><p>Instead of sleeping, Jon closed his eyes and tried to See Daisy. He didn’t get much of anything. Random moments from her past, several of them at this cottage. Meaningless facts that would have been useful if she was a category on a trivia game, but were decidedly not useful for this situation. Flashes of something that wasn’t Daisy, but wasn’t quite not-Daisy, something with far too many teeth and swirling colors and the scent of Julia Montauk’s blood. </p><p>Jon opened his eyes. He couldn’t do this for too long; he had no idea how long it would be until he had access to statements again. He had a few in his bag, of course, but not many. He should save his strength. Jon decided to get a glass of water. He stood up and stretched, bones cracking in protest. He turned, and saw a dark figure standing in the hallway.</p><p>“Jesus Christ!” Jon shouted, flinching back. “Martin, don’t… say something next time.”</p><p>“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Martin whimpered. He started to back away.</p><p>“No, I’m sorry. You just scared me, that’s all. Did you need something?” Jon asked him.</p><p>“I’m scared that if I’m alone, I’ll go back to the Lonely. I can feel it calling me. And part of me wants to go back. Everything’s so loud here. I’m scared,” Martin said. It took them both a moment to realize what happened.</p><p>“Christ Martin, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-” Jon started, but Martin cut him off.</p><p>“It’s fine, just… Could you sleep with me? Please?”</p><p>Jon paused, heart hammering in his chest. “Alright.”</p><p>He walked down the hall, and the two of them went into the bedroom. It took a few moments of awkward fumbling, but they finally picked sides and got settled into the bed. Martin seemed to curl up, to make himself as small as possible. He was shaking. Jon’s heart shattered.</p><p>“Martin, it’s okay,” Jon said softly. </p><p>“I’m sorry, so sorry,” Martin said, voice breaking.</p><p>“Can I touch you?” Jon asked. Martin gave him a small nod.</p><p>Jon moved closer to Martin. He wrapped his arms around Martin, and tucked himself under Martin’s chin. He was close enough to hear Martin’s heart, and it pounded in his chest. Martin let out a shaky breath, and clung to Jon like a lifeline. When Martin started crying, Jon just held him tighter. </p><p>Even after Martin fell asleep, Jon held him, listening to his steady heartbeat until he too drifted off.</p><p>The two of them tried to go down to the village the next day, but a problem quickly arose.</p><p>Jon stopped dead at the edge of the village. Oblivious, Martin continued walking, until Jon called out to him.</p><p>“Martin, take me back. Now.”</p><p>Martin turned around, confused. “We need food, Jon.”</p><p>“Something happened here, in 1997. The children are too young to remember, but the adults still whisper about it behind closed doors. No one quite knows what to make of it, even after all this time. The marks linger on the maypole, a constant reminder of the-”</p><p>“Jon!” Martin yelled. Jon snapped out of his trance. He had been walking towards the village. Martin grabbed his arm with a force Jon didn’t realize he was capable of, and dragged him back towards the cottage. </p><p>It was a strange sensation. His body seemed to be acting of its own accord, fighting against Martin, pulling back towards the village. It took all of Jon’s willpower to keep his mouth shut, to stop the stream of consciousness. Once the village was out of sight, Jon’s body went limp. Martin clearly wasn’t prepared for this, and Jon fell on top of Martin. </p><p>His vision blurred. His head was spinning. He pulled himself off of Martin and crawled into the grass, dry heaving. The Beholding screamed inside his mind.</p><p>
  <strong>GO BACK GO BACK GO BACK GO BACK</strong>
</p><p>He could barely breathe. A long, serpentine thing was curling its way around his chest.</p><p>
  <strong>STATEMENT BEGINS STATEMENT BEGINS</strong>
</p><p>Martin had a hand on Jon’s back, rubbing circles on his spine. He was saying something, but Jon couldn’t understand the words.</p><p>
  <strong>The Archivist needs to watch out for cows.</strong>
</p><p>The sentence was so jarring, Jon was actually startled out of the panic attack.  He looked up, and sure enough, there was a cow. His voice still failed him, so Jon pointed. Martin looked up, and gasped. The cow came closer, clearly curious.</p><p>Martin started tugging on Jon’s shoulder. “We should-”</p><p>Jon cut him off. “We’re not in danger. Highland cows like people. She just wants to say hello.”</p><p>Martin gave Jon a look he couldn’t decipher, then looked back to the cow. “Ma’am.”</p><p>The cow mooed in response. Both men laughed. The cow stopped about a meter away from them.</p><p>Martin laughed. “That is the fluffiest cow I’ve ever seen.”</p><p>“She is a very good cow,” Jon said. Martin looked back at Jon.</p><p>“Are you okay?” Martin asked. Jon gave him a look. “Right. Obviously not.”</p><p>“I was going more for a ‘define okay’ look, but that works too,” Jon said.</p><p>“I… it’s just that... I didn’t realize it was so… physical,” Martin said. Jon stared at the cow.</p><p>“She’s a very good cow,” Jon said again. Martin sighed.</p><p>“You can’t avoid talking about this, Jon,” Martin said.</p><p>“I’ve already had this conversation,” Jon snapped. “You weren’t there.”</p><p>That was another conversation they needed to have. This wasn’t the time to have it. Jon stood up on still-shaky legs. He offered a hand to Martin, but Martin stood up on his own. They walked back to the cottage in silence.</p><p>“We still need food,” Martin said. “I’ll… I’ll just go back, then.”</p><p>Jon sighed, sitting on the front steps. He pulled Annabelle’s lighter and a cigarette out of his pocket. “I’ll be here.”</p><p>“I really wish you wouldn’t do that,” Martin said.</p><p>Jon looked at him with mock concern. “Oh, I’m sorry. If my smoking bothers you so much, I’ll just go down to the village and feed off the locals instead.”</p><p>Martin’s hands tightened into fists. “That’s not fair.”</p><p>“Isn’t it?”</p><p>Martin opened his mouth, but decided against it, instead turning on his heel and storming off. It didn’t matter to Jon. He Knew what Martin was going to say.</p><p>The cigarette was gone too quickly, but the anger was still there. Martin didn’t know Jon, not really. All the time he had been working with Peter, Jon had been changing. Martin shouldn’t act like he knew what was going on. Martin knew he had fed on innocents, didn’t he realize that his dependence had become physical? Had he really not been thinking about Jon? Jon had spent hours crying over what could have been, about the opportunity he missed, and Martin hadn’t thought of him at all?</p><p>
  <strong>The Archivist knows that is a lie.</strong>
</p><p>“And you know that I hate when you do that,” Jon said aloud.</p><p>
  <strong>The Archivist wants to check on Martin Blackwood.</strong>
</p><p>“He doesn’t want me to know things about him. Probably. Anyways, I don’t want to see him right now, I’m still angry.”</p><p>
  <strong>The Archivist cannot lie to the Ceaseless Watcher. The Ceaseless Watcher sees all.</strong>
</p><p>“Well, the Archivist says fuck off, Ceaseless Watcher,” Jon said, without much bite to his words. He went inside the cottage.</p><p>
  <strong>The Archivist does not want Jonah Magnus to know it is here.</strong>
</p><p>Jon froze. “You wouldn’t.”</p><p>
  <strong>The Archivist does not want Jonah Magnus to find Martin Blackwood.</strong>
</p><p>“I can’t go back,” Jon whimpered. “Please don’t make me go back.”</p><p>
  <strong>The Archivist does not want Jonah Magnus to find this place.</strong>
</p><p>“Leave me alone, please!” Jon ran into the bedroom, feeling like a child, trying to hide from something that could see everything.</p><p>
  <strong>The Archivist is scared.</strong>
</p><p>“I’ll gouge my eyes out!” Jon threatened, digging through his bag.</p><p>
  <strong>The Archivist is scared to die, now that it has something to live for.</strong>
</p><p>Jon finally found what he was looking for. It was a jumper, light grey and hand knit. Martin had left it in the Archives, and Jon had stolen it. It was softer than anything Jon owned. He was still struggling to breathe, scared by the voices in his mind. Jon tore off his shirt and, after a moment’s hesitation, his binder, and pulled the jumper over his head.</p><p>
  <strong>Jonah Magnus can see out of any eye, even an illustration.</strong>
</p><p>“I know that,” Jon snapped, crawling into bed. “But I’m in bed. I’m not doing anything about it.”</p><p>
  <strong>The Archivist does not want Jonah Magnus to find this place.</strong>
</p><p>“You already said that,” Jon whined, pulling the quilt over his head.</p><p>
  <strong>The Archivist has not removed the eyes.</strong>
</p><p>This made Jon pause. “What eyes?”</p><p>
  <strong>The word ‘daisy’ comes from the Old English dæges-eage, meaning ‘day’s eyes.’</strong>
</p><p>Jon jumped out of the bed, and ripped off the sheets. “Daisy’s gonna kill me.”</p><p>
  <strong>Alice ‘Daisy’ Tonner is still alive.</strong>
</p><p>Jon’s heart soared. He smiled all the way through burning the bedsheets. He then realized that the fire was spreading to the nearby grass, and he was going to be arrested for arson soon if he didn’t put it out. </p><p>
  <strong>There is a bucket near the steps with rain water in it. The Archivist should watch out for spiders.</strong>
</p><p>“You’re being awfully helpful today,” Jon commented as he doused the fire.</p><p>
  <strong>If Basira Hussain finds Alice ‘Daisy’ Tonner, she will kill her.</strong>
</p><p>“Ah, there it is,” Jon said, dropping the bucket.</p><p>
  <strong>The Archivist is exactly 163.02 centimeters tall, or about five feet and three inches.</strong>
</p><p>“Yes, I’m aware. Are there any more eyes in the cottage?”</p><p>
  <strong>Alice ‘Daisy’ Tonner has a collection of romance novels in the living room.</strong>
</p><p>“Thank you,” Jon said, heading back into the cottage.</p><p>Jon decided against arson for the shirtless people on the books, and instead found a pair of scissors. The newly coverless books sat on a pile on the coffee table. Jon sat on the couch, curled in a ball, exhausted. The Eye seemed satisfied with his work, as it wouldn’t answer any more questions. Jon was dozing off when it spoke again.</p><p>
  <strong>Martin Blackwood has returned.</strong>
</p><p>Jon temporarily considered hiding in the bedroom, but decided against it. The anger had faded to its normal dull ache, and Jon realized that he should apologize. The last thing he needed right now was to push Martin away, no matter what his instincts may be.</p><p>The door swung open, and Jon jumped up.</p><p>“Hello, Martin,” Jon said, before he could stop himself.</p><p>Martin raised an eyebrow, and set the groceries down on the table. “Were you expecting someone else?”</p><p>“No,” Jon said, suddenly feeling shy. “I just… missed you, that’s all.”</p><p>“I was only gone for an hour, Jon,” Martin snapped.</p><p>“Two hours and thirteen minutes,” Jon said. “And you’re still angry.”</p><p>Martin sighed, putting the milk down with more force than was strictly necessary. Jon flinched.</p><p>“No, I…” Martin sighed again. “You know what, yeah. Yeah, I’m angry. I’m angry that we’ve run away from everything. That we abandoned our friends. That out of all of the tiny Scottish villages, we got stuck with the one with some spooky thing tied to it. I’m angry that you tried to manipulate me. I’m angry that I’m angry. Most of all, I’m angry that, under any other circumstances, this would be the greatest time of my life. I’ve literally run away to a little Scottish cabin with Jonathan Sims! If you told me two years ago that I’d be here, I think I’d pass out from excitement. But I can’t enjoy it, because all my friends are dead and you’ve turned into the Archivist and I’m… someone else. All I want is to be alone. And that scares me. I’m angry, and I’m scared, and I’m tired of being angry and scared.”</p><p>They both stood there for a while, staring at each other, when Jon suddenly asked, “Is now a bad time to tell you I burned the bed sheets?”</p><p>Martin made a sound that could have been a laugh or a sob. “And why did you burn the bed sheets?”</p><p>“Because there were daisies on them, and Jonah Magnus can see out of any eye, even illustrations,” Jon said.</p><p>“Right then,” Martin said, clearly still not understanding. He put the milk into the fridge.</p><p>“Do you want help?” Jon asked.</p><p>“No, Jon.”</p><p>“Do you want me to leave?”</p><p>“No, Jon.”</p><p>“Do you want me to stop asking questions?”</p><p>“Can you stop asking questions? Like, physically?”</p><p>Jon laughed, quietly. “Yes, Martin, I am able to not ask questions.”</p><p>“Hey, it’s a fair question,” Martin said. “I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t there.”</p><p>Jon winced. “I’m sorry, Martin. That was-”</p><p>“No, you were right. I missed a lot. Clearly.”</p><p>“Daisy and Basira are alive. Melanie too.”</p><p>Martin smiled. “Yeah, I know. Or, I assumed if they were dead, you would tell me.”</p><p>“You… well, you said that your friends were dead, so-”</p><p>“They’re not my friends, Jon,” Martin said, softly. “Not really. Not like we hung out or anything.”</p><p>The truth felt like a block of ice in Jon’s chest. As usual, Jon knew far more than he understood. “You were talking about Tim and Sasha.”</p><p>“I’d rather not, Jon,” Martin said. Jon nodded, slowly sitting back on the couch.</p><p>Martin finished putting away the groceries, then walked into the living room, and laughed. Jon looked up, curious.</p><p>“I thought I lost that jumper,” Martin said.</p><p>“You did,” Jon said. “In the drawer of your desk in the Archives. I found it. In the drawer of your desk in the Archives.”</p><p>Martin laughed again, and sat down on the opposite end of the couch. “We really are fucked up, aren’t we?”</p><p>Jon covered his hands with the too-long sleeves. “Yeah, I guess we are.”</p><p>“And I think this is supposed to be our happily ever after, so that’s… great.”</p><p>Jon burst into giggles. “Happily ever after?”</p><p>Martin turned red. “Sorry, it sounded better in my head.”</p><p>Jon shook his head, still giggling. “No, it’s perfect. Our own, fucked up happily ever after. We’re too depressed and traumatized to enjoy it.”</p><p>Martin was laughing too, now. “I think we’ve got some work to do.”</p><p>“Oh god, can we at least eat lunch first?” Jon whined.</p><p>Martin looked at Jon, the same way he had looked at him in the field earlier, that look he didn’t understand. “Yeah, Jon. We can have lunch.”</p><p>At the age of ten, Jon had an eleventh year reading level. This also meant he never learned how to read people. He never realized how bad he was until uni. Georgie was wild and unpredictable, at least to Jon. He eventually complained about it to her, and she had looked so confused. Shortly afterwards, they had signed up for a psychology experiment to get a little extra cash, and one of the professors asked him if he had ever gotten a diagnosis. Jon had no idea what she was talking about. She looked at him, then, and asked him to come to her office at a certain time later that day.</p><p>She told him that she had been watching him through the experiment, and thought he may have undiagnosed autism spectrum disorder. She asked him a couple questions, had him take this test, and sure enough, she was right. She told him that the symptoms of autism were a lot different in women, and so it often takes much longer to recognize.</p><p>It was as if Jon had been missing a puzzle piece, one that made the rest of them fit. He wasn’t choosing to be like this. There was actually something about him that was different than everyone else.</p><p>He started crying right in her office. He told her everything: his grandmother’s failing health; his financial struggles; his fear that he was wasting his time with a degree he wasn’t passionate about; his questions about his gender; even his feelings for Georgie that forced him to question his sexuality. Instead of turning him away, she helped him. She convinced Jon to switch from an English major to parapsychology. She helped him through his transition, and even helped him ask Georgie on a date. The more time Jon spent with her, the more he learned about her. She was a fifty-two year old lesbian, drove a motorcycle, and seemed to have a magnetic pull on neordivergent queer kids. A small group of her parapsychology majors, including him and Georgie, started meeting up to study with her, and then to get drinks, and then just to hang out. They called themselves her Spooky Babies, and then later, The Mechanisms. </p><p>She died of a heart attack three years after they graduated. Her funeral was the last time Jon had seen most of the Mechs. He hadn’t spoken to Georgie in months, but she still held his hand. After the funeral, he went to the London Zoo and rode the carousel five times in a row.</p><p>The point was, Jon never really did figure out how to read people. And Martin kept giving him this look that Jon couldn’t understand.</p><p>Sources of entertainment in the cottage were few and far between. There was no internet, and no cell service unless you went into town. Daisy’s collection of romance novels were, to put it simply, pretty bad. Jon burned through them in a matter of days, and bitched the entire time.</p><p>“No one is making you read those books, Jon,” Martin said.</p><p>“I’m making me read these books,” Jon said. “Do you think my suffering counts as a statement? Think I can feed off this?”</p><p>And Martin gave him that look again.</p><p>Daisy did have a television, one left over from the 90s, and a VHS player. Neither of them were big fans of movies, but they had started watching one after dinner. Daisy’s VHS collection was much more extensive than her novel collection, and of a much better quality. On their fourth night, they were watching the original Charlie and The Chocolate Factory. Martin made a comment about how messed up this movie was, and Jon laughed. Jon wasn’t paying attention to the movie. He had spent the last twenty minutes trying to work up the courage to rest his head on Martin’s shoulder. Besides the fact that they had spent every night holding each other, they hadn’t touched each other much. Jon wasn’t sure what was okay. He didn’t want to cross a line, didn’t want to push Martin away. He knew that at one point, Martin had loved him. He wasn’t sure where Martin stood now.</p><p>But he also didn’t want to miss his chance, not again. So, over the last twenty minutes, he had been slowly sliding closer to Martin. If Jon twisted his leg a little to the right, his knee would be touching Martin’s. That idea made a small, queer part of his brain explode with excitement.</p><p>Before the anxious part of his brain could interfere, he slid his leg over. The connection was electric, like every nerve in Jon’s body was drawn to the few centimeters of contact. He shivered. Without a word, Martin leaned over and dropped an arm over Jon’s shoulders.</p><p>Jon had been wrong before. He thought that the queer part of his brain had exploded before. It was so much. Almost too much.</p><p>“I-is this okay?” Martin asked him, already starting to pull away. “You just shivered, and so I thought you were cold, but I should have asked and-”</p><p>“It’s perfect,” Jon said without thinking. He reached up and pulled Martin’s arm farther down his chest, intertwining his fingers with his own, and curling into Martin’s side.</p><p>And Martin gave him that look again.</p><p>It was like a dam had broken after that night. Now, almost every time they were in the same room, they were touching. They found out where the others lines were, and how to avoid crossing them. And, much to Jon’s delight, they had done most of it without having long conversations about feelings.</p><p>On their sixth night, Martin was cooking dinner, some sort of pasta dish. Jon was sitting on the counter again, in the same spot he had been the first night. Jon wasn’t very good in the kitchen, but he liked watching Martin work.</p><p>Martin looked over at him with the same damn look on his face, and Jon couldn’t take anymore.</p><p>“What?” Jon snapped.</p><p>Martin flinched. “I’m sorry, did I do something wrong?”</p><p>“You keep looking at me like that,” Jon said.</p><p>“Like what?”</p><p>“Like you can’t tell if you’re afraid of me or in awe of me. What does it mean?” Jon asked.</p><p>“It’s the look I get whenever I want to kiss you,” Martin said. Then, he turned red. “Christ, Jon.”</p><p>“Sorry,” Jon said, not sorry at all. “You want to kiss me?”</p><p>“Yes. Very much so.”</p><p>“Oh,” Jon whispered.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Martin said.</p><p>“I thought you didn’t anymore,” Jon said.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You… in the Lonely, you said you loved me.”</p><p>“Yeah, I did.”</p><p>“Loved. In the past tense.”</p><p>Martin looked confused. Then, it clicked. “No, Jon. I didn’t… Jon, I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly. I did love you. I still love you.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>They sat in a horrible, awkward silence.</p><p>“I do too,” Jon said suddenly. “Love you, that is.”</p><p>“Oh,” Martin squeaked.</p><p>Neither of them made a move.</p><p>“Christ’s sake, Martin,” Jon snapped. “Come here.”</p><p>He grabbed Martin’s arm, and pulled him over to the counter. Jon leaned forwards, and kissed him. Martin squeaked in surprise, but recovered and kissed back. It was awkward, with their noses smashed together, and over all too quickly. Jon leaned back and let out a huff.</p><p>“Guess I’m a little out of practice,” he joked. Martin shook his head vigorously. Jon raised an eyebrow.</p><p>“Okay, it wasn’t great,” Martin admitted, and Jon laughed softly. “Maybe try this?”</p><p>Martin took a step forward and tilted his head, gently grabbing Jon’s face and pulling him forward. The kiss was so soft, so gentle, so comforting, so <em>Martin</em>. Jon buried his hands in Martin’s thick curls, pulling him closer, kissing him harder. Martin’s hands were on Jon’s waist, and Jon’s legs wrapped around Martin. It was sweet, and bitter, and sad, and beautiful.</p><p>They kissed a lot more after that. Lazy morning kisses when they were half asleep, kisses among the cows when they were out on their walks, forehead kisses when Martin was sitting down because it was the only way Jon could physically do them. On their tenth day, they kissed on the couch until Jon’s tongue was in Martin’s mouth and Martin broke away to place featherlight kisses on his neck.</p><p>It was… nice? Was it supposed to be nice? It made Jon happy, at least, to finally be able to kiss Martin. It felt right, in a way Jon couldn’t quite explain. Like he was only created to be with Martin. All of the bad things leading up to that didn’t matter, as long as Jon ended up with Martin. It was an emotional desire, to keep Martin locked away in the comfort of the cabin and to never have to share him with another living soul again.</p><p>But Jon knew it wasn’t a physical desire. And that conversation wasn’t going to be avoidable, especially if they continued at this rate.</p><p>Jon buried his hands in Martin’s hair. Jon liked playing with Martin’s hair. It was as soft as it looked. Martin whined, and kissed Jon again. Martin pulled away again, resting his forehead against Jon’s.</p><p>“You alright?” Martin asked softly.</p><p>“No,” Jon said.</p><p>Immediately, Martin backed up, giving Jon space. “What’s wrong?”</p><p>Jon couldn’t help the words tumbling out of his mouth. Vaguely, he wondered if this is what the statement givers felt like. “Well. We’re on the run, Daisy’s turned into a Hunt beast, Basira is going to kill her, Melanie mutilated herself and so now Georgie hates <em>me</em> for some reason, Eli- Jonah has been suspiciously quiet, and I need a cigarette and a statement but I can’t have either of them.”</p><p>Martin blinked. “I… was talking about-”</p><p>“The kissing, yeah, I know.”</p><p>Neither of them said anything for a while. Then, Jon spoke.</p><p>“I ruined the moment, didn’t I?”</p><p>Martin winced. “Well… kind of? We could still save it. If you want, of course.”</p><p>“I… I should tell you something, Martin,” Jon said.</p><p>“Yeah?” Martin squeaked.</p><p>“I… well, you should know that I… I just… I don’t. I don’t.”</p><p>“Don’t what?”</p><p>“Don’t do… this. That. I don’t. Never have.”</p><p>“I… really have no idea what you're trying to say, Jon.”</p><p>Jon huffed. This was a lot harder than he thought it would be. Not like it had been all those years ago, with Georgie.</p><p>
  <em>Georgie was always a pretty woman, but she looked amazing with those pink streaks in her hair. All Sims wanted to do was kiss her. Georgie had let him. She was probably never going to let him again.</em> 
</p><p>
  <em>“I’m sorry, Sims,” Georgie said.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Why?” Sims asked, trying hard not to flap his hands.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I should have asked first. Consent is important.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sims almost laughed. “But I ran away.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yeah, what was that about? And you can stim, I don’t care.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sims flapped for a bit before answering. “I don’t want that. I don’t like it.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Oh. Oh! Are you asexual?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I don’t know. I was raised by-”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“A sexually repressed old woman. Yeah, I remember.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Georgie came over, and sat on the floor facing him. Sims waited until the flapping looked less like he was trying to take off before speaking again.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I still want to kiss you,” he said.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Just nothing below the belt? I can work with that,” Georgie said.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sims paused. “Wait, you’re not mad?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“No, of course not!” Georgie said. She reached out, and placed her hand on the floor, palm facing up. Sims rested her fingertips against Georgie’s.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“But you like sex,” Sims said.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yeah, and I also have fingers, Sims,” Georgie argued. Sims squeaked in surprise. “Sorry, was that too much?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“No, just unexpected.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Georgie laughed, quietly. “I like you, Sims. No matter what.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Jonathan.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“What?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I’ve been thinking about it. I like Jonathan.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Georgie smiled. “Alright, Jonathan.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You could call me Jon.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“That’s better. Less like a sleep deprived English professor.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Hey, I’m sleeping enough!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I don’t think you ever have, Jonny.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Jon made a face. “I don’t think I like that.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“No? Jonny Sims, paranormal hunter extraordinaire?” Georgie tried. Jon laughed, fully taking her hand. Georgie gasped, and Jon looked up at her.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I’ve got it!” Georgie said. “Building off my earlier idea: Jonny D’Ville.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Oh,” Jon said, blushing. “Oh, I like that.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yes!” Georgie cheered, and Jon laughed again. “I may not have any musical talent, but I am still contributing to this band! Come on, Jonny boy, we’re getting celebratory croissants.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Georgie pulled him off his feet, and the two of them left the dorm, without a care in the world.</em>
</p><p>The memory was sudden, and it hurt to remember. Physically hurt, in the space between his eyes. That was concerning. </p><p>“What was that?” Martin squeaked.</p><p>“What was what?” Jon asked, stomach filling with dread.</p><p>“Jon, you… you made me Know, didn’t you?”</p><p>“I didn’t mean to, I just… I don’t think I could do it again if I tried. Also, it hurt.”</p><p>Martin sighed. Jon curled in on himself. “I’m sorry, Martin.”</p><p>“It’s… just try not to, okay?” Martin said. </p><p>Jon nodded, looking at the coffee table. There were two forgotten cups of tea on the coffee table. Jon should really pick those up, wash them out, wipe off the table while he was at it. Then he should take care of the rest of the lunch dishes, which were left out to dry but not put away. Then he should-</p><p>“Jon?” Martin said. “You… you don’t have to look at me, if you’re still overstimulated, but I need you to know that I’m okay with it. With not having sex. I don’t care. Well, I do <em>care</em>, just not about that. I mean, there’s a lot of different-”</p><p>Jon held up a hand, and Martin stopped rambling. It was all a little too much. His head hurt all over now. He hadn’t flapped in years, due to all the built up ableism that returned when Georgie left, but the need was still there, pulsing in his chest.</p><p>No, he realized. He didn’t want to flap. His hand was still up, a buffer in between himself and Martin. He reached out, and Martin took his hand. Jon shifted so that he was leaning on the arm of the couch, and pulled Martin towards him.</p><p>“Jon, what-”</p><p>“Could you lay down on top of me?”</p><p>Martin sighed. “Jon, I’m too-”</p><p>“Please?” Jon’s voice cracked. </p><p>Martin melted. He shifted so that he was laying on top of Jon, with his head on Jon’s shoulder. The weight was grounding, pulling Jon back to reality.</p><p>“Are you al- are you comfortable?” Martin asked, and Jon snorted.</p><p>“Very,” he said, running a hand through Martin’s hair. “You were saying something? There’s a lot of different...?”</p><p>“Oh, yeah. A lot of different forms of intimacy. I don’t need to have sex with you. I just need you.”</p><p>Jon blushed. “Ever the romantic.”</p><p>“Hush, Jon,” Martin said. Jon pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Martin’s head.</p><p>“I… I love you, Martin,” Jon said. The words still felt alien on his tongue, but they had the desired effect. Martin blushed, and smiled.</p><p>“I love you too, Jon.”</p><p>They sat there for a while before Martin said, “Can I ask you a question? About what you… about what I saw?”</p><p>“Sure,” Jon said. Martin looked up at him with a mischievous smile.</p><p>“Who’s Jonny D’Ville?”</p><p>“Fuck,” Jon said. Martin laughed. “Okay, fine. I was in a band at Oxford. We were called The Mechanisms. That was my stage name.”</p><p>“The Mechanisms?”</p><p>“The name makes more sense once you learn that we were robot space pirates.”</p><p>“I’m sorry, you were <em>what</em>?”</p><p>“Robot space pirates. For the record, not my idea.”</p><p>“Say that one more time?”</p><p>“Shut up, Martin.”</p><p>Martin laughed. Jon rolled his eyes, and kissed him again.</p><p>On their fifteenth day, Martin stammered his way through an idea for a different form of intimacy.</p><p>“Well,” Jon said. That’s… an idea, for sure.”</p><p>“We don’t have to,” Martin said. “If you’re not comfortable.”</p><p>“I… it’s just not something I’ve thought about.”</p><p>“I don’t want to do something you’re not comfortable with, Jon.”</p><p>“I know,” Jon said. His head hurt. It started hurting on the eleventh day, and only got worse since. Basira said she should be able to get into the Institute within the next few days. She would send statements.</p><p>An idea struck him then: is there a chance this would help? It was an exercise in observation. In analysis. But he couldn’t decide to go along with it just because he thought it might help the withdrawal. He wouldn’t use Martin like that. It was, as Martin said, a form of intimacy. That’s what Jon needed to see it as.</p><p>“Can I leave my binder on?” Jon asked.</p><p>“Of course,” Martin said. Jon kissed him again, and sighed.</p><p>“Okay,” he said.</p><p>“You sure?” Martin asked.</p><p>“If I wasn’t, I’d say no,” Jon said, pulling off the grey jumper and kicking off his trousers. Martin stared at him for a second, before chuckling.</p><p>“You undress really fast,” Martin remarked. “Wait, that sounds wrong.”</p><p>“No, I know what you mean,” Jon laughed, sitting on the bed. “I’m used to quick changes. I was a theatre kid.”</p><p>“That’s got to be the worst thing you’ve told me about yourself,” Martin said.</p><p>“What? Why?”</p><p>“I hated theatre kids,” Martin said. Jon faked offense. “Oh, come on Jon. Everyone hates theatre kids.”</p><p>“Okay, that’s fair,” Jon said. Martin laughed, and kissed him. </p><p>“Are you going to get undressed?” Jon asked. Martin bit his lip. “This was your idea, Martin. Unless you want to back out.”</p><p>“No I want to,” Martin said. “I just… I don’t really like the way I look.”</p><p>“Well, I do,” Jon said. Martin blushed, and took his clothes off. He sat on the corner of the bed, still looking uncomfortable.</p><p>Jon layed back on the bed, dramatically crossing his ankles. “Come here. Paint me like one of your French girls.”</p><p>Martin burst into giggles, coming to lay down next to Jon. “You’re ridiculous.”</p><p>“You love me,” Jon said, pulling Martin close.</p><p>Martin smiled against Jon’s chest. “Yeah, yeah I do.”</p><p>They laid there, intertwined, in a comfortable silence. Jon felt like his very soul was on fire, gently burning with his love for Martin. Martin ran his finger gently over a scar on Jon’s shoulder.</p><p>“What’s this from?” Martin asked.</p><p>“That’s where Melanie stabbed me,” Jon said. Martin sighed, and leaned over to gently kiss the scar. Jon blushed, and Martin smiled at him.</p><p>“There. All better,” Martin said. Jon only blushed further, which seemed to be the reaction Martin was going for.</p><p>“What about this one?” Martin asked, brushing over the line on his neck.</p><p>“That’s from when Daisy tried to kill me,” Jon said. Martin left several kisses on his neck, and trailed down to his collarbone, starting on the pockmark scars that scattered his body.</p><p>“That one’s from a worm,” Jon said. “And that one’s from a worm. And that one’s from a-”</p><p> </p><p>“Smartass,” Martin said against his shoulder. Jon laughed, and stopped talking.</p><p>Martin moved to a spot just above Jon’s elbow. “Are you still sticking with ‘a bread knife’ for this one?”</p><p>It took Jon a second to realize what he meant. “No, that was Michael. I honestly forgot about that.”</p><p>“Only you could forget about being stabbed, Jon,” Martin said. He took Jon’s right hand in both of his. “This one?”</p><p>“Jude Perry,” Jon said. Martin kissed his palm, and placed his hand back on his stomach. It was then he noticed the thin, pale lines that ran the outside of Jon’s thighs.</p><p>“Oh,” Jon said, voice thick. “And those were me.”</p><p>Martin looked up at him, with a shot of fear in his eyes.</p><p>“Years ago,” Jon said. “I don’t anymore, Martin.”</p><p>Martin kissed the scars, and then Jon’s lips. “If you… tell me if you feel like doing it again. Promise?”</p><p>“I promise,” Jon said without hesitation. “And you too.”</p><p>They held each other a little tighter after that, as if daring the things that were hunting them to try and break them apart.</p><p>As it turned out, that happened sooner rather than later. On the eighteenth day, Martin went into town to get a few groceries, and to talk to Basira.</p><p>“How was she?” Jon asked Martin after he came back.</p><p>“Oh, same as last week,” Martin said, putting the groceries away.</p><p>“Institute still crawling with police?”</p><p>“I mean, they’ve finished all the interviews? Apparently they’re calling it a terror attack.”</p><p>“Doesn’t surprise me. Appropriate, in a way. Does she know who they’re looking to blame?”</p><p>“They’re not really talking to her about it?” Martin said. He came into the living room, leaning against the doorframe. “Sectioned or not, I guess ex-police only gets you so far.”</p><p>“Does she know if they’ve found the old prison yet? The Panopticon, Eli– Magnus’s body?”</p><p>“I don’t know how hard they’re looking, to be honest? Basira said a few of them got lost in the tunnels for over a day, and it’s not like the promise of an old man’s corpse is much of a motivator. Still, she did manage to talk them out of burning the whole place to the ground. And, ooh, actually, that reminds me!”</p><p>Martin grabbed his bag from off of the couch, and pulled out a large delivery envelope. Jon’s hands started shaking.</p><p>
  <strong>READ READ READ READ READ READ</strong>
</p><p>“Ah,” Jon said, ignoring the urge to lick his lips. “These, these are the statements.”</p><p>“Basira said she wasn’t sure which ones you’ve read already, so she just said she’d send a bunch,” Martin handed him the envelope, and Jon pulled it into his lap, pulling out a large stack of papers.</p><p>
  <strong>READ READ READ READ READ READ</strong>
</p><p>“There are tapes in here, as well. D-Did she say anything about tapes?” Jon asked.</p><p>“She didn’t mention it? But I didn’t check it until after the call,” Martin said.</p><p>
  <strong>READ READ READ READ READ READ</strong>
</p><p>Jon set the statements down next to him, and dumped the tapes on his lap. There were four tapes in the envelope. For some reason, the inclusion of the tapes bothered him.</p><p>
  <strong>READ READ READ READ READ READ</strong>
</p><p>“Maybe it’s her idea of a varied diet? Eating your greens?” Martin joked. Jon wasn’t paying attention. Two of the tapes were unlabeled. The other two were labeled, but the labels were very concerning.</p><p>
  <strong>READ READ READ READ READ READ</strong>
</p><p>“This is Getrude’s handwriting,” Jon said.</p><p>
  <strong>READ READ READ READ READ READ</strong>
</p><p>“...So?” Martin asked.</p><p>
  <strong>READ READ READ READ READ READ</strong>
</p><p>“So why does it say ‘FOR THE ARCHIVIST’?”</p><p>
  <strong>READ READ READ READ READ READ</strong>
</p><p>“I don’t know,” Martin said, concerned. He picked up the stack of statements, and began leafing through them.</p><p>
  <strong>READ READ READ READ READ READ</strong>
</p><p>“And this one…” Jon said. The label was in his handwriting. ‘Birthday’. “This was in my desk, why was Basira-”</p><p>“She wasn’t,” Martin said. Jon looked up at him. All of the color had drained out of Martin’s face. “Jonah Magnus was.”</p><p>
  <strong>READ READ READ READ READ READ</strong>
</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“This statement-”</p><p>
  <strong>READ READ READ READ READ READ</strong>
</p><p>“-it’s from Jonah Magnus-”</p><p>
  <strong>READ READ READ READ READ READ</strong>
</p><p>“-about you.”</p><p>
  <strong>READ IT OR DIE, ARCHIVIST.</strong>
</p><p>“Give it to me,” Jon said, even though every part of him screamed in protest.</p><p>“What?” Martin squeaked.</p><p>“Give it to me, Martin,” Jon snarled.</p><p>“No! Look, h-he seems to think if you start reading, you won’t be able to stop and that can’t be anything good!”</p><p>“I don’t care!” Jon yelled. “<strong>Give it to me.</strong>”</p><p>Now compelled, Martin started to hand it to Jon. His entire body was shaking.</p><p>“Thank you, Martin,” Jon said, grabbing the statement.</p><p>“No!” Martin screamed, suddenly thrusting his arms out and shoving Jon off of the couch. Jon tumbled off of the couch, and went straight through the glass top of the coffee table.</p><p>When Jon came to, he was laying on the couch still clutching the birthday tape. Everything hurt. Martin was gone. All that remained of the coffee table was shards of glass.</p><p>Martin came back into the room then, holding the broom and sniffling.</p><p>“Well,” Jon croaked. “Daisy’s gonna kill us.”</p><p>Martin dropped the broom, and rushed to Jon’s side.</p><p>“Jon, Jon, don’t move, oh god, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, I swear, I’m sorry,” Martin sobbed.</p><p>Jon tried to stand up, but was immediately dizzy and fell back onto the couch. Martin’s hands flew out to catch him, but pulled back just as quickly, as if he was scared to even try to touch Jon.</p><p>“S-stay down, Jon,” Martin stammered.</p><p>“Fine,” Jon said. “Then come sit down with me.”</p><p>Jon grabbed Martin’s jumper and pulled him closer. Martin sat down next to Jon, still shaking, still crying. Jon pushed through the pain, and pulled himself into Martin’s lap. He raised a hand to Martin’s cheek, brushing away the tears. “Do you know what you just did, Martin?”</p><p>“I threw you through a fucking table,” Martin sobbed.</p><p>“No,” Jon said, kissing Martin’s forehead. “I Know what that statement said. It wasn’t a statement at all, it was a ritual. If I had read that statement… You saved the world, Martin. You saved <em>me</em>.”</p><p>Martin sniffed, his hands coming to rest on Jon’s hips. “By throwing you through a table.”</p><p>“Well, don’t make a habit of it,” Jon said.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Martin whispered.</p><p>“You’re forgiven,” Jon said. “A million times over.”</p><p>Jon kissed him then. There were a lot of things they still had to do. They still had to clean up the glass. They would still talk about how Magnus wasn’t going to give up after one attempt. Jon would still bring up the idea of taking his life. Martin would still yell at him for it. Martin would still have a panic attack the night when Jon couldn’t sleep and sat outside looking at the stars. They still had to find Daisy and stop Magnus and save the world. But for now, they just kissed each other.</p><p>After all, they had time.</p>
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